


Pestilence

by CelticGrace



Series: Bex [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Fictober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticGrace/pseuds/CelticGrace
Summary: As Bex Shepard and Zaeed Massani work their way towards Mordin's clinic on Omega, Zaeed recalls a similar plague that ravaged London when he was a kid.
Relationships: Zaeed Massani & Female Shepard
Series: Bex [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951768
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3
Collections: MEFFW Fictober 2020





	Pestilence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fictober 2020
> 
> Prompts used:  
> "no, come back!" (Official Fictober, prompt #1)  
> Pestilence (MEFFW Fictober, Week 1)  
> Headcanon about Favorite Human Character (MEFFW Fictober, Week 1)
> 
> Part of the Head Over Tattered Sneakers universe.

“This is damn depressing,” Zaeed muttered to himself as he and Bex picked their way through the slums of Omega. Everywhere they looked, humans of every kind—some alone or in pairs, some huddled together around barrel fires—nearly all of them displaced by the plague. 

This plague, whatever the hell it was, didn’t affect humans, or vorcha, so everyone else was suspicious of them. Most suspected members of one or the other species, or more terrifying, a collaboration of both, had created it. The few humans Bex and Zaeed had encountered in the plague zone had been locked in their own homes supposedly for their own protection, though a couple had mentioned “fees” paid to the local Blue Suns. 

“Wait, no! Come back!” Bex called after a group of kids who had bolted the second she'd approached them. “Bloody kids. I just wanted to talk to you!”

Zaeed snorted. “Oh this brings back memories.”

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Bex leaned against a crumbling pillar and narrowed her eyes. “I never ran away from you. Thought about it a couple times, but that was later on, more about Dad than you.”

Zaeed frowned, his lighter flickering several inches away from the cigar clenched between his teeth. “Guess we know jus’ how many blows to the head it takes to erase your memories.”

“Come again?”

“First day we met, you ran. Second day, you ran twice, from Noah’s place, and again from Helen.”

Bex held up a finger. “First of all, I wasn’t running from _you_ the night of the break-in.”

“Fair enough.”

“Second—” Her head whipped around and one hand glowed a faint blue as one of the kids who’d run off crept back over to where they stood. “‘Sup, short stuff?”

Zaeed hid a laugh in a puff of the cigar. “Rich comin’ from you, Half Pint.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him, her full attention on the kid. “Whatcha need?”

As she chatted with the boy, he looked about six—the hell was it about that age and street kids?—Zaeed kept a sharp eye out. Wouldn’t do for them to get ambushed before they reached the salarian doc they were looking for. 

The cracked and crumbling walls, the filthy streets, the barrel fires, it all felt like home. Add heavy clouds and a sprinkling of acid rain and he’d swear he was back in London as a kid, sleeping rough, running with gangs. 

There had been plague back then too. 

It had started in the slums but hadn’t taken long to hit the posh fucks too. For months on end, London was all but dead—no one allowed out, to keep spread of the damn thing at a minimum, but it killed thousands, maybe a million or more, before all was said and done. 

Though the regular folk in the poorer neighborhoods were hit hard, the gangs suffered the most. A couple were wiped out entirely, two or three dwindled to bare numbers and threw in together—he suspected that’s how the Reds had started, if Pike had been in one of those gangs back in the day. 

Zaeed and Vido had only just been initiated into a gang when the plague had hit. And it had hit them especially hard. The leader who’d recruited them had died before anyone was even uttering the word “plague.” Nearly every member of the gang had gotten it at one point or another. Some had suffered for weeks, a few died, another handful had gotten lucky and not gotten it at all. Zaeed and Vido had both been part of the first group. Though Zaeed had worse symptoms, Vido had languished for far longer, had nearly died before the worst had passed.

_Would have saved me and Bex both a world of grief if he had._

Being each other’s only friend and too new to the gang to really trust anyone else, Zaeed had nursed the ungrateful wretch back to health himself. He’d scavenged for medicine, for anything to make soup—it was the only thing either of them could keep down for nearly two months—hell, he’d even broken into a church one night and stolen blankets to keep out the worst of the chill. 

In the end, all his efforts had nearly gotten them both jumped out of the gang. The new leader had claimed they weren’t team players, keeping to themselves for so long. A girl had argued that they’d probably saved half the gang by separating from the rest, even the others who were sick.

Zaeed had kept up with the girl who’d stuck up for them, long after the gang had dissolved from poor leadership and he and Vido had moved on. Years later, they’d even dated a while, had a kid, almost got married.

He tossed the stub of his cigar on the ground, obliterating it under his boot as he thought for the first time in a long while about what had happened to his daughter. She’d have been 31 now, a few months older than Bex.

He thought it was strange how plague and war pushed some people to despicable acts, extorting money from neighbors in exchange for “protection," while others remembered what it was like to go hungry and did their best to help those still in that position. 

He shook his head with a sigh. _Nah, that’s nothing special, just bloody society._

Bex quirked a scarred eyebrow as she came over to stand beside him, the boy and his friends scampering off with a credit chit and an armful of protein bars. “You okay, Z? You look… I dunno. Haunted.”

“I’m good, Half Pint. Just thinkin’ about this ‘n’ that.” He gave her a weary smile and handed her the shotgun he always carried for her. “Ready t’ go find this salarian doctor?”

She nodded. “Maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll have cured the plague and all.”


End file.
